


Slap Slap Kiss

by Xyriath



Series: FMA: Twelve Days of Smut [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Brotherhood/03 Mashup, Light Bondage, M/M, Post canon, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are perks to being Russell Tringham's roommate, but Edward Elric can't admit to any of them in public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slap Slap Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Part One of 12 Days of Smut

Ed was going to kill Russell Tringham.

He told himself this at _least_ once a week, of course. It wasn’t like Russell didn’t deserve it, with his super smug face (his super smug _hot_ face) and the way he acted like he knew everything and that _infuriating_ hair flip (buy a goddamn headband or something). Or how so many of their arguments dissolved into snapping at each other and then furious kisses that Ed did _absolutely_ not initiate, no way, or if he did it wasn’t his fault because Russell antagonized him into initiating anyway.

Ed was pretty sure that roommate arrangements weren’t really supposed to work like this, but what the hell did he know? The only person he had ever lived with was Al, but now that his brother had settled down with Winry in a house—a _house_ —in Risembool, he didn’t want to mess with a good thing. At least, it had good parts. Like affordable rent in one of the best parts of Central, and a roommate who turned out to be a pretty decent alchemical sounding board—when he wasn’t being a jackass.

And the orgasms, he would only admit privately to himself, were _fantastic._

But there were bad parts, too. Like the fact that Russell seemed to think that Ed couldn’t smell the plants of dubious legality that he sometimes smoked, thinking that he was totally subtle. Or that he didn’t put the toilet lid down before flushing.

Or that he _now_ seemed to consider impersonating Ed to get State Alchemist perks fair game. Unbelievable. You have sex with a guy a few times and he starts getting all sorts of ideas.

So how did they end up here? Ed wondered, almost forlorn underneath his annoyance, glaring at the suspender wrapped around his wrists.

“You had this coming,” Russell drawled, hand sliding up the inside of Ed’s thigh, and Ed frantically tried to squirm away.

“ _I_ had this coming? You’re the fucker who got me banned from a perfectly respectable bookstore because, and I quote, ‘The Fullmetal Alchemist _already_ frequents our shop, phony!’ Now who the fuck could _that_ be?”

Russell squeezed his hand, and the pressure on Ed’s thigh went immediately upwards, sparking with pleasure. With dawning horror, Ed realized that his fucking boner pressed _very_ noticeably into Russell’s thigh.

A frantic twist to look over his shoulder showed him a smirk that meant yes, Russell very much did notice it.

“And if you had tried talking to me about it like a civilized person, we wouldn’t be here. I guess I’ll have to just teach you some manners, then.”

“As if you fucking _know_ any, you cock!” Ed snarled as Russell yanked down Ed’s pants with one movement.

“More manners than you,” he replied conversationally, and whatever Ed was about to say next was cut off by a resounding _smack_ as Russell’s hand cracked across his ass.

Ed _shrieked_ , and somewhere in the back of his mind he prayed that their neighbors remained as remarkably tolerant of this as they had their frequent quarrelling.

The aftershock of the impact stung, and Ed simply gaped at the bound hands in front of him for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

“Looks like I’ve finally found a way to shut you up.”

“You—!”

His words turn into a yelp as Russell smacked again, sending a jolt of pain through Ed’s bare ass. This was followed by another, and then another. With each new slap, Ed made another pained noise, shuddering and writhing at the sensation.

And then the fucker—the _fucker_ —lifted his knee a little, shifting his thigh to grind it against Ed’s cock. Which was, of course, still hard. Harder, even. He’d have to thank his stupid body for that later.

“See? It’s doing you good already.”

Ed fucking saw _red_ at the smug tone in Russell’s voice. “I’ll show you some fucking manners—“

And Russell slapped again, another sharp crack of pain across Ed’s ass. Ed’s hips jerked down—with the pressure of the impact, he told himself—and to his eternal embarrassment, he _moaned._

“You were saying?”

“I fucking hate you,” Ed growled, even as his traitor hips ground forward again, aching cock _pleading_ for some relief.

Russell’s other hand slid up the inside of his thigh again, and Ed whined and squirmed.

“I know.” The hand lifted to his ass again, but this time, it stroked instead of slapped, soothed instead of stung. “But you love _this._ ”

Ed tried to reach down, to shove himself up and away from this—this goddamn _torture_ , but then Russell’s hand reached further to grab the base of Ed’s cock.

He gasped at the fingers wrapping around it, moaned and writhed and _whined_ at the agonizing pleasure that wasn’t enough, wasn’t _nearly_ enough.

“You do, don’t you?” Russell purred, squeezing tightly, then pulling away. Ed wailed without warning, thrusting forward into what was no longer Russell’s thigh, but empty space.

“You—you—you fucking—“

“Hmm? That’s not a way to earn my hand again, is it?”

Ed’s jaw dropped, eyes wide. “ _Earn?_ ”

“I’d settle for asking nicely. That would do it, too.”

“Fuck you!”

Russell sighed, then lifted his thigh. This—fuck this _tantalized_ , in the worst way possible, because Ed could feel it barely press against his cock, but only the tiniest bit, and he was probably going to die.

“ _Now_ you have to beg me for more punishment. Otherwise we’ll be here for at least three more hours.”

Three hours. Three fucking _hours._ Ed stared ahead, glared at the suspender keeping his wrists tied together, and tried to jerk away. Roll off the couch, even, if he had to.

Russell, of course, just tightened his arm around his waist, then reached in to fondle Ed’s balls. But just for a moment—he released them almost immediately, leaving Ed making strangled noises in his wake.

“You know what you need to do.

And Ed _did_ , damn it all, _damn_ it all, but he was flushed and aching and _wanting_ , but this was Russell and he couldn’t give in to this bastard, not like this…

“ _Please._ ”

He couldn’t stop his traitor voice. Nor could he stop the thrill as it betrayed him, the sudden longing, not just to be touched, but to _beg_ to be touched.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Please!” Ed groaned again, hips writhing. “Fuck, Russell, goddamn, just—just spank me again already, okay?” His face was flushed a deep red, he could fucking tell from the heat, and he thanked anyone listening that he couldn’t see Russell, and that Russell couldn’t see his face.

Russell’s fingers traced over Ed’s ass, and Ed jumped a bit at the sensation, but Russell continued to tease. Ed was just about to open his mouth and beg again when—

Russell’s hand cracked against his ass again, louder and harder than ever, and Ed just wailed, “ _Please!_ ” again.  It was so—fuck, Ed couldn’t be feeling this way, not with how _amazing_ this felt, to be spread over Russell’s waist and paddled like a recalcitrant child.  Russell smacked again, Ed’s begging turning more and more desperate, though losing some coherently—“Please— _please_ , Russell—spank me harder—more—“And Russell obliged, the smacks coming harder and faster, Ed wailing and moaning at every one, so hard now that he could barely see straight.

He didn’t realize what was happening when Russell stopped, hooking his arm around Ed’s waist instead and lifting him, then hauling him to the ground. He nearly got a mouthful of carpet, and it was only belated reflexes that allowed him to catch himself on his tied wrists.

He could hear Russell following, kneeling behind him on the floor, and pants unzipping. He closed his eyes— _thank god, thank fucking god_ —and a rough finger pressed into him, slick and ready. Ed pushed his hips back demandingly—he didn’t need the finger prep, just the lubricant.

Russell seemed to take the hint, because it wasn’t much longer before Russell apparently deemed him wet enough, yanked his finger out, grabbed Ed’s hips, and shoved his cock in.

The decibel level of Ed’s moan rivaled those of earlier. This… _this_ is what he had fucking been waiting for. He rocked back into Russell as Russell rocked forward into him, thrusting in deep, just the way Ed needed.

“See?” Russell gasped, drawing back and snapping his hips forward in a way that hurt deliciously, then doing it again. “When you’re a brat, you get punished. When you behave, you get rewards.” He continued thrusting forward, fucking into Ed with a rough carelessness that sent Ed’s forearms and knees with stinging rugburn.

“Fuck you!” Ed gasped back, but then Russell changed his angle and Ed’s words were lost, as lost as Ed as he sank into the pleasure, shuddering around Russell as he moaned softly, the sounds punctuated and made louder with each thrust. “Please,” he gasped, the words now associated with _reward_ in his mind, possibly indelibly. “ _Please!_ ”

He could hear Russell groan from above him, hear the slapping of skin as he pounded with no consideration for gentleness. His momentum increased and Ed was _so hard_ and wanted it _so badly_ and shit, _shit_ , Russell wasn’t even going to have to fucking touch him and—

Russell groaned again, louder, and with another rough thrust, he shuddered, grabbing the back of Ed’s head and shoving his cheek down into the carpet as a sudden warm fullness spilled inside Ed.

That did it for Ed; he was too far gone and feeling Russell _come_ —Ed was right after, if not at the same time, and as the pleasure rocked through his every cell, somewhere in the drifting part of his mind, he told himself that they’d have to figure out how to do this “together” thing again sometime.

They both panted for a bit, their ragged breathes as asynchronous as their orgasm had been in tandem, and Ed eventually found himself sliding downwards—face down, ass up began to ache after a while.

Russell seemed to take the hint, and he rolled off of Ed—flopping over onto the carpet behind him, hooking an arm around his waist, and tugging him close, half-clothed and all.

Fuck. Ed never knew what to say after these… incidents.

“I’ll still kick your ass if you impersonate me one more time.”

Russell groaned, throwing his other arm around Ed’s head, leaving Ed squirming to get out from under it. “Can’t you shut up for _one moment_ when something being stuck in your ass doesn’t seem imminent?”

“The fuck is that supposed to—“

Ed told himself that he was _very_ tired of getting manhandled, and much as he hated that he’d been flipped around yet again, he did have to admit that arguing was much harder with (and much less nicer than) Russell’s tongue in his mouth.

When the kiss ended, Russell’s fingers finally releasing Ed’s hair, Ed pulled back a little, panting heavily, but unable to look up into Russell’s eyes.

“Jerk,” he muttered, but he let Russell pull him forward into his chest, and deciding, with a little flip in his stomach, that resting his cheek there maybe wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
